


We've Found Her!

by ReturnOfTheNightmare



Category: Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms, Tomb Raider (Video Games)
Genre: Crack, Crack-Pairing, Crack-ship, F/M, OOC!Lara Croft, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Secret-Cat-Lover!Werner von Croy, classic Tomb Raider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReturnOfTheNightmare/pseuds/ReturnOfTheNightmare
Summary: "We've found her!" No Werner, you've found her backpack. ...What? You're… not just going to leave her down there, are you? Dude, the backpack IS NOT LARA!A sillier interval between The Last Revelation and The Angel of Darkness. Complete and utter crack.
Relationships: Lara Croft / Werner von Croy





	We've Found Her!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was heavily inspired by the following quotes:  
> "Although I fear for Von Croy: pursuing his inner demons, driven half to madness in his quest for her final resting place… He will not find peace in himself until this is complete." -Charles Kane, Tomb Raider Chronicles  
> "We've found her!" -Werner Von Croy, Tomb Raider Chronicles
> 
> This version is slightly different to the one currently on FFN. Before posting it here, I reviewed the whole thing for legibility purposes. Some sentences have been reworded, and I did add a couple of extra gags (if you can call them that), but overall it's the same thing. Just a tiny bit improved on the 2019 version, which in itself was an improvement over the original written years before (but was never posted). I hope you enjoy. :)

Beneath The Great Pyramid,   
15th of January 2000, 14:04 PM,   
Sandy and Dark – bring a coat.

A smile stretched across Werner’s lips, his grey eyes lighting up with a maniacal glint. The backpack in his hands was made of worn leather, but to Werner it felt like the smoothest, most expensive of silks. “We’ve found her!” he announced.

Behind him, Werner’s workers exchanged a look. The shorter of the two pulled the other down to whisper in his ear. “He’s not gonna go on a mad rampage, is he?” he hastily asked. He was then smacked across the face.

Vengeance done, the taller one shrugged before resuming staring at Von Croy. His eyes were so wide they could have fallen out. “Herr Von Croy, we found her _backpack_ ,” he said consolingly. “We’ll keep looking.”

Werner spun around to stare incredulously (and quite wildly) at the duo. “What are you talking about, man? Your job is done. Go home; I’ll pay you by morning.”

And with that, Von Croy made his way back up the staircase, stroking the backpack with one hand as he did so. The workers could have sworn they heard him muttering something to the bag like an old woman would to her obese cat.

The workers looked at each other.

The shorter one shrugged. “Well, she’s probably dead anyway--”

**BANG! CRUMBLE! CRASH!**

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHH!” the taller man screamed, jumping into the other’s arms like a damsel in distress. The shorter crumbled under his weight and fell onto his back with a loud **THUD**.

They struggled to untangle themselves from each other. Much cursing was involved, and when they were done, they were greeted with the sight of a thoroughly pissed off looking young lady. The sand coating every inch of her torn, blood-stained clothes only served to make the taller worker wet his knickers in fright.

The woman glared at them with burning brown eyes. “He _didn’t_!” The words were practically hissed. The taller worker sank back to the floor like jelly.

“D-Didn’t what?” The shorter one trembled.

“Von Croy!” she yelled. “I’ve been down here for two weeks waiting for him to come and rescue me, and he just walked away and left me, didn’t he?”

“W-Well, h-he did try to f-find you, it’s just that-“

“He went mad!” the tall one cried. “Please don’t kill me; I am but a humble gardener! I shouldn’t even be doing this job! I’m a victim too!”

The woman punched him in the face, knocking him out cold. A foul smell wafted up from the shorter workers trousers. Ignoring this, the woman spun on her heel and stormed up the staircase. “That unsavoury little runt will pay for this!”

* * *

Streets of Cairo,   
15th of January 2000, 16:32 PM,   
Slightly cloudy

Lara ignored all of the wide-eyed pedestrians staring at her ripped, torn and filthy attire. Instead, she focused her attention on the arrogant little git in a white suit walking not five feet before her, talking to something in his hand. She couldn’t quite make it out from this angle. The pedestrians were also staring at him, but she didn’t pay any mind to that either. Which is why I’m writing it. God, I’m such a good writer! I should get awards.

She picked up her speed and reached the slow-paced cripple in a matter of seconds. She grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him round to face her.

Von Croy’s eyes went wide as tennis balls. “AAARGH!” he screamed, stumbling backwards onto his derriere. The backpack fell from his hands onto the pavement beside him.

“ _You_ ,” Lara began, “are the most _disgusting_ , _abominable_ little-“

Wait.

Her backpack. Von Croy had been talking to _her backpack_.

Her rage boiled over the sides of the pan. “THAT’S THE ONLY REASON YOU EVER BOTHERED TALKING TO ME AFTER ANGKOR WAT, ISN’T IT?” she screamed. Tears cascaded down her cheeks like waterfalls. “YOU JUST WANTED MY BLOODY BACKPACK! IT NEVER WAS ABOUT ME, WAS IT? IT NEVER WAS ABOUT MY TALENTS OR OUR FRIENDSHIP, YOU JUST WANTED MY DAMN BAG!”

Unable to take it anymore, Lara burst into loud sobs. She covered her eyes with both hands as she wept. And to think she’d loved him! Ohhhhhh, woe!

“L-Lara?” Von Croy stammered. “But… how could there be two of you?!”

She punched his nose. Von Croy cried out and clutched it. Red leaked from between his fingers but was quickly washed away by Lara’s tears, which were now bursting from her eyes like in a cartoon.

“You know what, Werner? You want the backpack so much? Keep it! And don’t you dare talk to me _ever again_!”

She threw a kick to his unmentionables for good luck before quickly slipping her passport and purse out of the bag. She cast a glance at his curled up form and gave him one last kick to the head, just so she could hear his stupid accent say “Ow!” again. Much to her dismay, he fell unconscious instead.

_Ah well_ , she thought as she headed towards the airport. Lara recalled that she kept several sets of underwear in her backpack, but couldn’t bring herself to care enough to go back and fetch them. That retrieving them entailed showing them to random people had _absolutely nothing_ to do with that decision.

As she strutted away, the on-lookers could only stare in confusion at the endless tears still flooding the pathway. An hour later, some poor underpaid sod was sent to sweep them all up with a broomstick. He was promptly fired, because only a complete idiot tries to mop up tears with a broomstick.

* * *

Lara’s Home, Surrey,   
16th of January 2000, 13:46 PM,   
Chance of rain (translation: it’s bloody bucketing)

Lara kicked her front door in, causing the four men in her main hall to jump (and scream in Jean-Yves’ case).

“Oh dear god, it’s a ghost!” Jean wailed. If one looked closely, one would notice a patch of his trousers had turned a darker colour.

“Don’t be silly,” chuckled the priest. “It’s just young Lara! How’re ye doin’, girl?”

Lara ignored him. “You!” she yelled, storming up to Frenchie McJean-Yves. “You left me there!”

Jean fainted. Charles caught him and began prodding at his face with a fish-slice.

“Oh for- _What is it with traitors fainting on me?!_ ”

Her old teacher shrugged from where he was still holding (and prodding) Jean. “You can be very scary, Lara.”

A hand landed on her shoulder. She turned to glare at the owner – who just so happened to be Father Patrick. The priest smiled at her. “It’s good to see you’re alright, girl. You should get changed, though; you’re leavin’ a load of mud everywhere, and Winston’s gonna have to clean that up!”

Lara glanced down at the floor and realised that she had, in fact, left a trail of mud from the door. Must have been from when she’d driven her stolen lorry through a marsh. Honestly, whose clever idea was it to put a marsh in the middle of Surrey?

“Sorry Winston,” she muttered.

“Too right!” said Charles. “I can’t give you a welcome-back hug until you’ve got clean clothes on! Can’t have two people walking around making a mess, now can we?”

Something small collided with her stomach, knocking the air out of her. Looking down, Lara was greeted with the mostly bald head of Winston.

“Ohhhh Miss Croft!” he lamented. “I haven’t made you any tea! I _must_ fetch you some tea!”

He farted and began shuffling towards the kitchen at his usual pace, oblivious to the mud that now coated his front. Lara, not for the first time, puzzled over how he managed to move so fast when no one was looking and yet struggled to move his feet the rest of the time.

“Well, that won’t do at all.” Bram tutted. “He’s gonna get a load ‘o mud in yer tea, Lara!”

“He keeps spare suits in the freezer,” Lara assured him. “I’ll go get changed. Charles, drop Jean-Yves in that deep, dark pit in the race track. Bram, if Von Croy calls – which he shouldn’t now he’s got his _precious backpack_ – tell him to stick a pipe up his nose.”

“Aye,” chuckled Bram.

“…And to eat a fork-lift. Whole. And backwards.”

He tutted. “Now Lara, isn’t that a bit rude?”

“Make it incredibly rude, then,” she snapped. Lara then stomped up the stairs with such thundering rage that peasants in Melbourne heard it.

As soon as his hearing was restored, the priest chuckled again. “Ah, young love!” he sighed, receiving a withering look from Charles.

“Father, do be quiet and help me carry Jean. That flab on his belly is a lot bigger on the inside, you know.”

* * *

Von Croy’s Apartment,   
The Chantell Building,   
Rue Valise,   
Paris,   
21st of October 2003, 11:03 AM,   
La-la weather (rain)

Werner Von Croy was in a right kerfuffle. Having finally accepted that he was a crippled old wanker with no future in the adventure department after Lara had dumped her bag on him, he’d moved on to research commissions. He’d accepted a commission from a man called Eckhardt five weeks ago. Then, just one week ago, he realised that he was being STALKED! Calamity!

Whenever he looked out the window he saw the silhouette of a man’s head. He shivered at the memory as he peered over from his desk. Sure enough, there the shadow was again.

_(What Von Croy didn’t realise was that this was just a small bust attached to the exterior of the building. It had always been there, but he’d only opened the curtains for the first time yesterday.)_

Looking back down at his work, Werner shivered again. With the Monstrum serial killer more active than ever before, he just knew he was unsafe. It was time he took extreme measures… which he’d already done by buying a gun from that Bouchard guy. He kept it on him always, just like Mr Backpack. But it was time for even more extreme measures.

He looked down at the bag sitting on his lap. “What do _you_ think, Mr Backpack?”

The old leather backpack (riddled with magical hocus pocus) remained still, but Werner just knew that particular stillness meant “You should totally do it, guv.”

Nodding to himself, Werner gently picked Mr Backpack up in the crook of his arm like a baby, and headed towards the phone. Lara had ordered him not to call him ever again (and he probably should have gone to hospital after that kick), but times were extreme. He _had_ to call her; she was the only one capable of saving him from the naughty Monstrum! Werner stood with misty eyes, hand floating over the phone, imagining Lara carrying him away from his scary apartment like a pretty princess. Maybe they could get married in Vatican, or perhaps Antarctica… then go on a world-hopping adventure in search of the Holy Grail. Maybe she could help him climb some ledges…

Depression fell upon him like an anvil. Of course they couldn’t get married; she hated him for mistaking her backpack for her! He didn’t know what had got into him that day in Egypt. It was as if the long days in the sun had addled his brain or something. Maybe they had. He’d never wanted her stupid backpack. Of course, now it was his best friend because Lara hated him and Carvier called the police on anyone who tried to communicate with her outside of work. And he couldn’t talk to his mother because she was too sweet and nice (yeuch!) and it made his stomach rebel. But he’d never wanted her backpack, and that was final - even if he now relied on it for companionship.

He stifled a sob. When had life grown so difficult? He only had one friend, and the woman he loved hated him for losing the plot for a few hours.

“I should just call her and be done with it…”

* * *

The hallway,   
Lara’s Home,   
Surrey,   
A few minutes after Werner’s deranged angst session,   
Raining again

Lara sat stiffly on a conveniently placed chair outside the kitchen, glaring at the ringing phone. Normally, Winston would pick it up and bring it to her if it was actually important, but he was off at an old people’s party for particularly senile old men. She had to pick it up herself.

She whined. It wasn’t fair! She’d _never_ picked up a phone before. What on earth was she supposed to do?! Were there any buttons that needed to be pressed?? Warily, Lara slowly outstretched her arm towards the device. Her hand performed a double-take before picking it up. She brought it to her ear. “…Heeello?”

“Lara, is that you?”

Her anxiety flew out the window to be replaced with Nile-length hatred. “Von Croy!” she growled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Lara, please… I need your help…”

She would have hung up on him, but something in Werner’s voice made her hesitate. He sounded like Winston that time they’d run out of tea leaves. Werner never sounded like that; he let his problems stew until they were so rotten he could just toss them in the bin. He didn’t need help making his problems rot, so the fact that he was actually _asking_ – _her_ no less – for help meant he’d encountered a problem that doesn’t decay.

Despite herself, Lara found herself asking him what had happened. There was a muffled noise on Werner’s end that sounded strangely like a sniff. “Not over the phone…”

Lara pulled the phone away from her ear for a moment to stare at it, wondering if she should believe her ears. Werner Von Croy, arrogance incarnate: _paranoid_? Not reaching a decision, she reluctantly returned it to her ear. She caught Werner at the end of what sounded like a rather heartfelt monologue.

“…ster Backpack said you might say yes. Please say yes!” he wailed.

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening,” Lara told him, playing with the phone cord. “What were you saying?”

Silence.

“Visit me tomorrow!” squeaked Werner. He hung up.

Lara stared at the phone again. Well, that was odd. Still, he had sounded rather distraught, so maybe she _should_ visit him. It wasn’t like he had any friends other than herself. And besides, she’d never quite been satisfied with that last kick nearly four years ago…

Bloodlust painted a grin on her face, paled from three years of indoor angsting. Yes, she would visit him. And if he stepped one toe out of line, she would slap him silly! And then she would blow up those kitten pictures he kept hidden behind a locked door!

“Winston, fetch my rocket launcher!”

Silence.

“Oh right, he’s out. Dammit!”

* * *

Von Croy’s Apartment,   
The Chantell Building,   
Rue Valise,   
Paris,   
22nd of October, 2003, 18:25 PM,   
Thor’s pissed (bad pun intended)

Werner sniffed in his chair, wishing for nothing more than to sink into the foamy chair beneath him. In his other comfy chair (as opposed to his uncomfy chairs) sat Lara, glaring at him quite coldly. He could hardly blame her; the very sight of her in his apartment had sent him into a torrent of tears, and she’d spent the last half an hour slapping him and telling him to shut up.

Why was life so unfair? That scene he’d imagined yesterday had been so perfect! Why could it not be? WHYYYYY?

“What’s all this about, Werner?” Lara interrupted his reverie. “You’ve got five minutes. Convince me I’m not wasting my time.”

Werner pushed his woes back and focused on the matter at hand. What was the matter at hand again? Ah right, he wanted to get married and go world trotting, and he was being stalked by a psychopath.

…He could ask for her hand in a few days when she was done with his little task. Perhaps a little adventure would remind her of all the good times they’d shared. Werner nodded to himself; this seemed like a good plan. “Help me, Lara. I need you to get something for me.”

“Go on.”

Werner took this as a good sign. “I am tracking five Obscura Paintings for a client called Eckhardt… but he’s a psychopath.”

“Why should I care?” she snapped.

He was incensed. How dare she talk to her bride-to-be like that?! “Because I’m being stalked,” he yelled, rising to his feet. “People are dying out there!”

“Handle it, Werner!” she yelled back, rising to her own feet.

Werner flinched at the anger etched into her face. Of course, they weren’t actually engaged yet, were they? She hadn’t been listening when he’d asked her on the phone yesterday. He felt heat rush to his face, and turned away to hide it. His eyes caught sight of a slip of paper with Carvier’s address on it (she had a habit of moving flats every time she was visited by strangers or for non-business purposes).

Of course!

“Lara, please…” he begged, taking her hand to put the paper in it. “Look… go and see this woman, Carvier. She can help…”

“I’m going.”

Lara turned to leave. Werner panicked. She hadn’t had a cup of tea yet! He grabbed her sleeve, only to find himself back in his chair with Lara leaning over him. She looked into his eyes with that one glare he’d once seen her throw at a particularly persistent pervert in Vienna.

Oh wait, that was him.

“Egypt, Werner. You walked away and left me. There was no pity then.”

He was about to cower in shame when movement in the doorway caught his eye. Eckhardt!

Werner pushed Lara away with one hand and drew his gun with the other. “Get out! Get out of the way!” He fired at Eckhardt three times, but the bullets dropped in mid-air not three feet away. Apparently, the gun was rubbish. Damn that ruddy crime lord, selling him sub-par equipment just because he was a stupid old man that can’t tell the difference! His beloved could die because of this!

Eckhardt shoved Lara aside, sending her flying towards the bookshelf. The force sent Mr Backpack toppling down from a shelf. He fell on Lara’s head with a loud _crack_ , after which Lara did not get up. Werner prayed his not-fiancé lived!

Distracted, Werner did not notice Eckhardt move to push his chair over until he was sent rolling towards the window. He rolled over his walking stick halfway, and gave a soft “Oof!” when the figurine-Seth’s nose dug into his bladder.

The rolling stopped. The pain didn’t. Werner felt himself being lifted up by the neck.

“Von Croy,” Eckhardt greeted him. “You have located the painting for me. Why have you not delivered it?”

_Well, I noticed I was being stalked and wanted Lara to get it for me so I could… remain in my home where I am easy for a killer to find_. Werner suddenly realised how bad his plan was. He could have just requested asylum from Lara! As much as she hated him, she would never have let him die. Probably. Worst case scenario, she’d tie him up and torture him for ten years. He could have survived that… probably.

Oh right, he hadn’t wanted to endanger her.

Dammit.

“I…” Werner panicked. “Daren’t collect it! It’s too dangerous!” Not a lie at all.

Eckhardt’s expression remained blank. He was going to die, Werner realised. And so was Lara if he didn’t make her sound useful. Oh no, not his fiancé! He had to protect her so they could go on that world-hopping adventure for the Holy Grail and get married in a remote location! “But _she’ll_ be able to!” he blurted at Eckhardt, glancing towards Lara’s motionless form by the bookshelf. Mr Backpack lay innocently by her head.

Eckhardt too glanced at her. His gaze returned to Werner, and before Werner knew it, the hand around his neck shifted.

“No!” he cried. He’d forgotten to make _himself_ sound useful too!

* * *

Ten minutes later,  
Still pissed, still pissing

Lara found herself standing over Werner’s motionless body. Confused, she bent down. When had she beaten him up? Surely she hadn’t experienced an inconveniently convenient memory-lapse just as she finished her nasty deed? Frustration welled up in her. Now she couldn’t reminisce about the assault! _And_ she’d have to check he’d survive to be beaten up again!

She carefully shifted his body and recognised the signs of a corpse instantly – she’d seen them often enough. This couldn’t be her doing, surely? She hadn’t planned to kill him (just his stupid cat pictures). Lara frowned before letting him go and rising to her feet. Feeling something on her hands, Lara looked down at them… to find them covered in _ketchup_! Oh, yuck! Had Von Croy fallen so far as to eat bloody McDonalds’? Oh wait… it was blood.

She returned her gaze to his motionless form. His tongue was sticking out, and there was a gaping hole where his stomach was supposed to be. Ew. And was that a dark patch on his crotch? Double ew.

Sirens blared in the distance. Recalling the gunfire Von Croy – or was it her? – had fired, Lara spun and ran for the exit. She had to get out before the police arrived.

The world tripped around her as she reached the bookshelves by the exit. Oh wait, it was her. She groaned as she lifted herself off the floor, rubbing at her cheek. She looked back to see what had tripped her. A brown mass greeted her. Her backpack.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to let it slip into the hands of… some relative of his (if he even had any). Lara snatched it up and slipped it round her shoulders as she kicked off her feet again, trying not to think about the suspicious smell surrounding it. Later on, she was going to have to fish around in that backpack to see just how much Von Croy had fiddled around with her stuff. If she saw one pair of knickers out of place, she would take a dump on his grave – or in his ashes. Whatever.

* * *

Several days later,   
Same place,   
No-one-cares hour,   
Weather unknown (so probably raining)

Lara Croft eyed her ex-mentor’s kitchen with distaste. It was nice knowing Werner had found his mother too disgusting to leave anything to, but couldn’t those blasted pleasemen at least clear up a bit? The preparations for Werner’s unfinished last dinner were still littered across the worktop, gathering mould. Lara didn’t care to know what he’d planned to do with two slices of salami and a fish.

But never mind that. She had a mission to complete.

She’d been upset when she read Werner’s side of the Egypt story in his notebook. And she was _not_ going to admit to anyone that she’d fallen into a fit of teenage giggles at Werner’s marriage plans for her, even if Father Patrick had been in the same room at the time. But even though she did forgive her friend for his actions in Egypt, there was definitely one thing that could never be forgiven.

The policemen had raised their eyebrows at her when returning her backpack, making sure she could see the rocket launcher within as they did so. Lara had simply told them her original plans for it. They’d understood completely.

This murder was entirely legal.

She armed herself. Approaching the door she’d kicked in not a few days ago, Lara glared at the scenery of the small closet of a room before her. There was a set of stairs to her left and a sideboard right in front of her. But it was neither of those objects that offended her. No, what offended Lara was what was displayed on _top_ of the sideboard.

With a ferocious growl, Lara aimed her rocket launcher towards the two kitten photos. She honestly had no idea where Werner had got them, nor whose kittens they were. And to be honest, she didn’t care. All she knew was that they didn’t belong, and they would die by her hand!

“Bye bye,” said Lara, baring her teeth in a beastly grin. With but a twitch of her finger, a jet of orange shot toward the sideboard and blew the entire thing up. Thankfully, Werner had reinforced his walls with good old English bricks, so Lara would only have to replace the plaster and floorboards. Nothing could beat good old English bricks.

Smiling to herself at the charred, blackened mess, Lara tossed her weapon aside and headed up the stairs. She really needed a bath, and this apartment was hers now so why the hell not? It may be small, and it may not have a scenic view of the countryside. But this bathroom had one thing over the one in Lara’s home.

No Winston to sneak in and offer her tea.

Lara set the taps at full-blast and poured in half a bottle of bubble-bath, just because. After stripping down and posing in the mirror for a minute or two, she shut the taps off and sunk in with a sigh. Nothing could beat a nice, peaceful—

“Would you care for some tea, Miss Croft?”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Secret-Cat-Lover!Werner has my eternal support, and you should be ashamed if you supported the cat pics' destruction in any way.


End file.
